


A Taste for Old Blood

by dustandroses



Series: Old Blood [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Biting, Community: tamingthemuse, Consensual Discipline, Demons Made Them Do It, Discipline, Dom/sub, M/M, Old Blood Universe, PWP, Under A Spell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:37:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandroses/pseuds/dustandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike has been cooped up for too long, and he's about to explode.  What he needs is a firm hand to bring him back under control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taste for Old Blood

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt Notes:** Inspiration for this fic taken from the Live Journal community Tamingthemuse prompt #401: Alter Ego  
>  **Notes:** This story is an interlude for my one of my favorite stories, _Old Blood_ , but it's not necessary to have read that story to read this one.  
> [You can read Old Blood here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/287092) (If you want to.)  
> If you know _Old Blood_ : this takes place when Spike and Xander are living in Clem's friend's apartment.

“Strip.”

That solitary word could convey so many different things. Spike could tell them apart by the way the word was spoken, and the mood of the one who spoke. In this instance, Spike hurried to comply. He removed his clothing quickly, and without fuss, because he could tell that not only was The Sadistic Bastard back in charge of Xander’s body, but he was not at all amused. 

Spike knew he’d brought this upon himself. He’d been angry at his lack of control over their situation - jittery over the fact that he and Xander were trapped in a dinky little flat night and day, and frustrated that Xander refused to tell Spike his plans. He’d had blown up at Xander, in front of Clem, who’d scurried out of the apartment, with a promise to bring Xander a new video game when he came by tomorrow with blood for Spike. 

Spike could hardly contain his belligerence. If The Bastard wanted rid of the Bumbling Boy, why should he mind if Spike lost his temper at him from time to time? Maybe it was the fact that they shared a body, but The Bastard was very protective of Boy Xander, and Spike knew it. Spike was willing to admit that it was possible that he was slightly jealous of how carefully The Bastard treated Xander. It was more likely, though, that Spike simply wanted some of that attention for himself. 

Spike tossed his jeans onto the pile of his clothes and boots, listening to the sound of Xander’s belt as he pulled it out of his pants. Spike shivered. Looked like he’d gotten what he’d wanted, now hadn’t he? He had Xander’s undivided attention.

His touches were cool and disinterested as he positioned Spike, bending him over the back of an armchair. “Count them, and do not move.”

Damn. Spike hated it when he was forced to participate in his own punishment. 

The pain was sharp – to Spike’s mind it was as clean and keen-edged as the blade of a straight razor, or a broken piece of glass. He was so surprised by the bright pain that he came close to forgetting his role in the proceedings.

“One!”

There was a grunt from behind him, but no comment, so Spike hoped he’d gotten away with his delayed response. After that came a flurry of strikes across his ass and thighs, and he counted every one, despite how difficult it was to focus on such a mundane task when his ass was on fire. The razor-sharp slashes of bright pain kept distracting him from his job. Whatever it was, it definitely _wasn’t_ a belt, but Spike wasn’t about to turn around, and risk disappointing Xander more, simply to find out what he was using.

The Bastard was better at discipline than he had any right to be, seeing that he was actually a part of Xander that had only been exposed to the light a month ago. But from the first strike, Spike was reminded of another dominant bastard who knew how to wield a belt - or a whip, or a strap, or whatever else he could get his hands on. He didn’t know which worried him more - Xander’s evil half, or Angel’s.

It wasn’t the worst pain Spike had ever suffered - it was nothing when compared to the sharp slash of a bullwhip - but the intensity left him struggling to concentrate, simply to hold his position. Only when he focused on the pain itself, and let his thoughts and his worries go, did he find a sort of peace in the punishment he was given. 

Xander stopped at twenty-five. Spike was quite relieved. He could have dealt with more, he’d had much more in the past, even from Xander. That didn’t mean he was stupid enough to ask for it. The ache in his arse told him twenty-five was plenty. 

Xander ran his hands along the welts, murmuring how proud he was at the way Spike took his punishment. His heart soared at Xander’s praise, even as the sting from the salt on Xander’s skin began to push the pain back, sending brilliant flashes of arousal shooting through Spike’s body. Not to say that he didn’t ache, or that the scrape of Xander’s jeans on his sensitive skin didn’t make him jerk and twinge. It most certainly did. But when Xander’s large, warm hand stroked his half-hard dick, Spike was more than ready to move on to the pleasurable part of the evening’s entertainment.

The only warning Spike got was the snap of the lid on the bottle of lube. Then Xander was directly behind him, and he pushed his cock into Spike’s arse without a word. The burn was _exquisite_ , boiling over into pleasure, and sizzling along his spine. That great cock of Xander’s stroked across Spike’s sweet spot, and he moaned, pushing back, asking for more. 

The prickling sting across the welts on his arse and thighs heightened Spike’s pleasure, sending little shocks of electricity directly to his cock, which was feeling extremely neglected at the moment. He’d have done something about that, but the ferocity of Xander’s thrusts made it difficult to do more than simply hold on to the arms of the overstuffed chair, elbows locked to keep from falling head first over the back of the chair. Xander adjusted his stance, allowing his cock to stroke more firmly across Spike’s sweet spot, and Spike’s whole body bucked and twisted, begging for more.

When Xander leaned over, pulling Spike up against his chest, Spike automatically bared his throat. Xander struck, his teeth breaking the smooth skin, and sending Spike flying into his orgasm, calling out Xander’s name as he came. The smell of fresh blood, overlaid with the scent of old magic hit him hard, and he opened his eyes, latching onto the arm Xander was holding out to him. The shallow cut on Xander’s forearm was surrounded by other, older cuts that were healing far faster than they should, and Spike rasped his tongue across them, making Xander shiver. The taste of his blood was powerful and heady, the magic adding a tint of bitterness, like the taste of old blood.

As Xan led Spike to the couch for a post-sex kip, he came close to tripping over something. Looking down, he couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Where the hell did you find a riding crop?”

Xander stretched out on the couch, smirking up at him. “Found it in the bedroom closet, on the top shelf, behind the sweaters.”

“What the hell were you doing up there?” 

He pulled Spike down, and they arranged themselves until they felt comfortable, all wrapped up in each other. “Got bored. Had to do _something_.”

“You mean the Boy Blunder got bored, don’t you? I can’t see _you_ rooting through the cubbyholes and closets,” Spike said with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, he has his uses,” The Bastard replied.

“I should say so.”

As he drifted off, Spike reminded himself to slip that crop into his duffel when they finally left this flat behind them. The owners of the place would surely never miss it, now would they?


End file.
